


Reparations

by A_bello



Series: Hannigram Smut [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: (the sexy kind), Blowjobs, M/M, Oneshot, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Priest Hannibal, Priest Kink, Will kills people, Will’s hands are bloody, religious scapegoat, reparations, spit and blood as lubrication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26379337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_bello/pseuds/A_bello
Summary: When he kills his next victim, Will doesn’t know who else to go to but the man who’d helped the last time;Father Hannibal.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Hannigram Smut [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907743
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64





	Reparations

**Author's Note:**

> This started out at a thread fic on my twitter (@Bello7a)..but here we are lmao. Enjoy!

_ Will gasped, not moving from where he knelt on the altar, bloodied and painfully hard. _

_Hannibal reached out after fixing his robes, pleased, to cup his cheek._

_”You are forgiven, Will.”_

_His brows furrowed slightly as he gazed up at the man, illuminated in the silver light, an angel._

_”Just like that? God has nothing else for me to do to repay him for my sins?”_

_Hannibal matched his expression, taking a deep breath as he crouched before him, hand sliding from his face._

_”God has his own sins. Don’t you think it’d be cruel of him, not allowing his creations the same shamelessness?”_

_Will though for a moment, mind twisting around the complex need building in his groin._

_“I suppose you’re right.”_

_Hannibal smiled, leaning in to kiss his cheek, then standing._

_ “Oh, dear boy, I know I am.” _

_____

Darkness looms over Will, insidious, the blood on his hands and neck nearly black in the moonlight. The church is hidden in shadow, nothing but the pale reflection on the stained windows from the moon to guide Will through the large wooden double doors.

He pushes into the large hall, the doors booming behind him when they shut.

He takes one step, another step, tentatively combing his eyes across the murkiness of monochromatic shapes swimming before him, misshapen and ethereal with the patterns from the high windows.

At first, he is disappointed and believes he is alone, but Will very quickly realizes he is wrong as he looks to the left of the altar where the confession booths sat, dull. A shock rippled through his body, glee clinging to the baby strands of hair as Will smiled, just barely.

Standing there, barely recognizable with tenebrosity, was a rather familiar priest. His hair neatly tucked back, silver reflecting from it like a broken halo as he steadily lit a few of the candles that sat on tables beside the booths.

His stomach lurched when their eyes met, Hannibal’s gaze as sharp as it’d be in the daylight, if not sharper. He turned the rest of the way and regarded Will who stood proudly, hands clenching, holding his breath. 

He shifted his footing, adrenaline humming beneath his skin-asking for permission.

Hannibal nodded, turning, his long black cassock swishing around his calves as he opened the curtains on one side of the confessional and disappeared inside. 

Will sprung into action, almost tripping over his feet as he walked around the pews, following after the now hidden man. 

He slows outside the curtains, deciding how he would do this; the foreplay, the wanting, the anxieties of their first meeting? Neither of them were in favor of drawing out what didn’t need to be, he felt, so what was the point of that?

He wasn’t sure until he poked a finger out, pushing the heavy fabric just slightly to the side, met with the sight of Hannibal standing in the small space, hands clasped behind his back, facing Will. 

A light tug in his gut directed him to make his decision, and he did, hand all but shoving the barrier sideways as he pushed into the booth to stand before the other. 

They locked eyes, pausing, hesitating. Would things be different? He wasn’t entirely sure, but he knew what had got him there. Will lowered his eyes to the ground, almost sheepish as his body followed suit, crumbling to his knees and farther, forehead pressed to the toes of Hannibal’s boots.

His hands were pressed to the ground before him as he kissed each shoe, gentle, pleading, slipping into his pitiful role with each new movement.    
  


He stayed that way, shoulders aching, bowed before the priest, before the man above him finally spoke up. 

“Look at me, Will.”

His head shot up and he was met with a kind stare. The firm set of his lips, the sharpness of his jawline, the way his greying hair fell into his eyes. It all made Will’s nerves prickle in the stuffy, dark booth.

He slowly sat up, rising to perch on his knees, inches away from him. His eyes hopeful, thankful as they stared back up at the priest. 

Hannibal observed the man kneeling before him, a solemn smirk working its way across his face in the candle light as Will’s bloodied hands balled into fists, clenching at his robes. He reached out, pushing ravel curls off his sweaty forehead, sliding his palm down the side of his face to cup just below his ear, thumb scraping his cheekbone and jawline. 

“What do I do to make it better, Father?”

He rasped, already seeking out the same answer as last time. The disheveled man knew what to expect, yet he still begged for guidance. It could have been pitiful if Hannibal didn’t find it close to endearing. 

“You know what to do, sweet Will. You must wash yourself clean of your sins, ingest the beginning of your reparations and give yourself to me. To God.”

Will nodded eagerly, grip sliding from his stomach and brushing over his twitching crotch, leaning back on his haunches to let Hannibal sit down on the confession booth’s leather seat. 

He crawled forwards an inch, waiting to pounce, gut knotting itself with need and guilt. His desperation was visible, and when he reached up quickly to undo the sash around Hannibal’s waist, the man’s own hands were met with calmer clean ones, pausing him.

“Be slow.”

He blinked a few times licking at his upper lip, tongue catching on his stubble and the blood staining it black in the shadows. Will nodded, continuing, slower now. 

His hands didn’t stop shaking with urgency, and his knees didn’t stop aching from the tenseness coating his body, but he steadily loosened the belt of sorts, calluses catching on the smooth fabric as his hands dropped to move on to the next layer.

Hannibal took a deep breath when those shaking, violent hands pushed his robe up to drape around his waist, where those dirtied fingers turned their attack on the button and zipper of his slacks. 

He lifted, gently, to let Will work the expensive uniform off his thighs and down to his ankles.

His touch was loving and reliant as it grazed back up his shins, over his knees, resetting the way his cassock fell around his hips. 

Hannibal watched Will lean in to let desperate, staggering sighs wash over his groin just before nuzzling his rapidly filling cock through his briefs.

He almost groaned as the man slowly pulled his underwear past his knees to join his pants, static-filled air a chill on his crotch, but Will did it for him, a low sound escaping his throat at the sight of his already hard member.

He dropped his head swiftly, already licking at the side of his cock, hand wrapping around the base to give himself leverage, smearing the still drying blood on both of them.

The kneeling man wasted no time with foreplay, licking up his shaft only a few times to place light, grateful kisses at the tip, tongue softly pushing against the slit to give himself a sense of lubrication.

He graciously wrapped his lips around the edge of Hannibal’s cock, tongue flat against the underside.

Slowly pushing his head down, mouth tight and warm, he waited until he felt precome pushing against the roof of his mouth to hollow out his cheeks. He lifted his head once more before pushing down, farther than the first time, the back of his throat already harsh in resistance as it met the tip of his cock. 

He hadn’t even pushed all the way to the base on his own before Hannibal was gently working his hands through his matted curls, whispering light reassurance and chastity.

“Wonderful, Will, you’re doing so good.”

Will was moving back up, legs squirming beneath him, relishing the feeling of those strong fingers tugging and massaging his scalp, when suddenly, Hannibal hardened his grasp on the strands at the crown of his head and pushed. 

He almost coughed around the sudden intrusion, but the priest's girth all but stopped any airflow as it was forced past the back of his throat.

His nose pushed lightly at the coiled hair gathered at the bottom of his cock, and he could taste his own drool mixing beneath his tongue. His hands tightened where they gripped the man’s thighs. 

He didn’t push up, or whimper, he simply took the action as best he could; Hannibal knew what was best for him.

When the pressure finally lightened up, Will pulled off all the way, hacking lightly at the sudden airflow. Hannibal pulls at his hair, soft but firm, guides Will’s gaze up to meet his.

“You aren’t done, Good Will.”

The subject whines, lips plump and abused, dripping saliva and precome.

After a moment's consideration, he nodded, and Will took the signal as he should, ducking his head back down to take him in his mouth once more.

Still recovering from the attack on his gag reflex, he bobbed his head savoringly, using his skillful tongue to his advantage. He grabbed at the base to steady his cock, practically reapplying the deep red syrup, twisting his fist quickly, spit sliding beneath his fingers.

Without much thought, his other hand slid from Hannibal’s thigh and down his own stomach, palming lightly at his erection. 

The fabric of his jeans was tight against his crotch and Will mewled against the shaft as he licked and kissed along the side of it.

The fingers in his hair tightened once more, tugging just barely too hard.

“Not yet, Will. I need to see both hands.”

Not without a soft whine, Will brought his hand back up, bracing it on the priest’s thigh again, sliding back into the handprint there. 

“Both hands, Will.”

His voice was forceful, scolding, and he moved his other hand to the opposite thigh. With the lack of support, Will found he was pushing down farther to keep his cock up. He would’ve bobbed back up slightly but continued with the slight coaxing from the man before him, until he was taking him in close to the hilt with nearly every tilt of his head.

Eventually, after working his throat almost raw, Will felt his legs shift beneath his clutch, hips pushing forward softly in tune with the muffled groans that Father Hannibal hid behind his teeth. He would have grinned had his lips not been stretched around his cock.

Instead, he dropped his head back down, drool coating his bottom lip and chin even more as he deep throated the throbbing mass in his mouth, somehow managing to hum in praise. 

His hips pushed impossibly further while he tried to grind down Will’s throat, and finally, release arrived.

It was warm and didn’t have a kind taste besides the metallic way it blended with the blood. Despite the urge to throw up, Will still swallowed around the large mass in his mouth, not moving up the slightest until he’d milked Hannibal dry. 

Only then did he pull off, cum and blood and spit strung in thick ropes from his swollen lips to the head of his sensitive cock.

Will took in the heavenly sight of the man, blood on his thighs and cock, vibrating with pleasure.

He smiled lazily, preening in the dark space, as if he were incredibly proud of what he’d done.

Hannibal shuddered, one foot left on Cloud Nine, the corners of his mouth turning up as his grip, still in the man’s hair, loosened. Palm sliding down to his cheek, he cupped his face, pulling him upwards slightly to meet his lips to his forehead.

“Good boy.”


End file.
